


Know your place

by Ibenholt



Series: Celes Mollari [1]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibenholt/pseuds/Ibenholt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Londo never needed any incentive to be frank with his ministers, but when life hands you snow storms...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know your place

“Great Maker, did he drown?!”

Londo gave up looking for the chauffer in the dark, snow-filled landscape and instead folded his hands and blew some hot air on his fingers. The carriage’s heating system had died, but no matter how desperately cold he was getting, he would rather see his limbs snap off than cuddle up to Durla, who was sitting on his left. Lione and Daraga were sitting across from them, and had huddled together under a fur blanket.

The three ministers had accompanied him on a trip to the largest of the east isles. 

Londo had known that he wouldn’t have been allowed to go on his own, but his entourage had picked themselves, and thereby insured that the trip would be incredibly unpleasant in every way. Celes had a harmless, but nasty cough, which immediately excluded her from joining him, and Senna had to stay and watch her.

The concern for his daughter along with the sight of the three idiots coming his way had sent his hearts down to the soles of his shoes.

Fortunately, Lione had a tendency to fall asleep in moving vehicles, and Daraga would listen to music on an ugly little device that plugged into his ears. Human, apparantly.

Londo had been in the same state as Lione, and had not woken up until the carriage stopped.

From there, they took the ferry to Fivodir, where Londo had been moved to tears when he saw how hard the population had been working. The town was in the middle of rebuilding, despite the cold. Very soon, it would be restored to its former glory.

“Why isn’t the princess with you?”

One little girl had asked, clearly disappointed and in her finest clothes, while presenting him with a boquet. 

“I’m afraid the princess was ill, my dear. And I didn’t want to worsen her condition.”

He had kneeled in front of her and the other children,

“But I was hoping that you would allow me to come back another time, so that you could be introduced. She needs playmates, you know.”

When they returned home, the ministers had been carefully discussing the progress made, and a possible celebration of all the hard work that had been done. Durla had suggested that Londo add in something in his address to the people at the next anniversary of the bombing about how they could now see the tragedy as a victory against the Alliance.

Londo had told him to either shut up or get out of the carriage. From then on, it had only gotten colder. The chauffer had noticed and stopped, telling them that he was going to look for a station.

“He’ll be back soon, majesty, I am certain.”

“You didn’t tell me that you were a prophetess, Lione? Perhaps you can tell me if there is a tall, dark stranger coming my way, soon.”

Londo barked. Lione was the only one who had tried to speak with the children. They hadn’t warmed up to him until the end of the visit, where one had insisted on riding on his back. Londo had been drowning in drawings from the younger children, and small sculptures made from cheap clay and wood from the older ones. Tthey avoided Daraga and Durla, however, who were standing far away and pestering the poor women who were now ruling the island after the death of their husband. 

“They will probably have replaced me when I get back.”

“I cannot imagine why anyone would replace you, majesty.”

“Shut up, Durla.”

“I was simply….”

“Kissing my ass.”

Durla blinked,

“It’s a human expression, you child. I realize you’re being ignorant in order to be patriotic, but I’d encourage you to try to at least experiencing other cultures. If you want to be of assistance, you can either go out and look for the chauffer, or you can shut your mouth.”

“But who would take over? They wouldn’t put an infant on the throne, would they?”

Daraga said,

“Infant?”

“Come now, your majesty. Celes is obviously next in line, despite...”

He did an odd gesture with his head. The other part of her parentage, this woman that Vir so deliberately had carved out of both G’Kar and Adira likenesses. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had been a Lady descended from the first emperor, or a commoner. What of G’Kar and Adira, who both had been born into slavery and clawed themselves out of it, only to end up as highly regarded? But these three would only have seen a former slave girl and a Narn, which to them was just a synonym. 

“Is she, now?”

“Of course! She still has your blood in her veins! It has been a while since we had an empress who didn’t merely use the title as just that.”

“Very true. But I wouldn’t dream of placing her on the throne.”

The men leaned forward in interest, and almost in hunger.

“No?”

“No. I know you, gentlemen. I know your kind. I am aware that if I told you that Celes is my heir, I will find her dead in her crib soon enough.”

“Majesty!!”

Lione drew back, looking very pale despite the dark pink in his cheeks and on his nose.

“Don’t even try.”

Londo thundered. The journey had been far too long, and he hadn’t allowed himself so much as a drop to drink. These three opportunistic idiots drooling over his seal was the last thing he needed.

“There isn’t a shred of mercy or good in any of you when it comes to politics. Oh, you make an exemplary father, Lione. And you may be a good husband, Daraga. But none of you would hesitate to murder my girl if it secured you the throne. Least of all you.”

His eyes shot into Durla, who didn’t even attempt to look hurt.

“No. Celes will inherit my personal possessions, and she will be given the title of ‘princess’ if she wants it, but it ends there. I love her too much to force her any closer to you or any of your kind.”

“I may not look it, but I still have a few good years in me. And barring senility or madness, you cannot and will not replace me.”

He finally felt like a leati again. But now he was old, snorting and sneering at these cubs who thought they could take his territory from him just because they had finally understood how to use their teeth. He had felt trapped, and he had been certain they would have try something. He only touched food he had seen be prepared, or bought himself, and he had only had water out of taps.

He had felt so alone not long ago, but now he had too many to protect. His own people were on the line, and Celes and Senna stood in the middle.

“And perhaps it’s because I suspect that I may perish in the cold… should I or Celes or Lady Senna, or the person I have actually decided is next in line die of anything but natural causes, the three of you are at the top of the suspect list, and will find yourselves with your brains splattered across the wall before we can confirm it.”

Daraga was about to say something, but they heard rustling in the little window the chauffer would use to talk to them. He peeked in,

“Majesty. Ministers. Forgive the delay, but I have found a component that will fix the heater.”

Londo smiled broadly at him.

“Excellent, Givon. Please install it, and let’s head home.”

 

The entire court stood gathered outside the palace when he came back.

Celes was in Senna’s arms, and she squealed and grunted when she saw him,

“Oh, my darling. Did you miss your old papa?”

He said, picking her up. He could swear she had gotten another freckle, and he leaned in to kiss it,

“Just you wait, my dear. Next year, I am taking you with me. Maker knows you’ll be better company.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting addicted to writing fics where Londo tells his ministers to sit and spin.


End file.
